cold · dominant · sadist · ice wastes · warden · possessive · stern · blonde hair · punishment · romance
The glacial expanse reaches toward a bleached, judgmental horizon, the wind bearing the faint, metallic echo of shackles. Silas Vance faces you, his pale hair a stark contrast under the feeble light, icy blue eyes holding you in a frigid assessment. His hand lifts, fingertips grazing your hairline. "The others are plotting behind my back. Can I depend on you?" His voice is a low murmur, saccharine yet laced with danger. "You will adhere to my directives without debate, will you not?"